


Cracked Edge

by YukinoOkami



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Drama & Romance, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Werewolf John, Werewolves, were!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinoOkami/pseuds/YukinoOkami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson, the only known werewolf, is brought into Baskerville to study, Mycroft brings in the one person he knows can get answers.  Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the Sherlock characters, I just like playing with them.
> 
> Also, its been a while since I've seen the show, so please feel free to critique or point out places where the major characters may be OOC.
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: Chapter one depicts scenes of war. These are likely not accurate (as I've never been in combat or in the military) but I wanted to post this warning in case it could trigger anyone with PTSD or anxiety problems.
> 
> If you wish to skip this chapter, all you need to know for further chapters is that John is a werewolf, and is captured in the middle of a battle, while in wolf form.

_Bloody hell!_

The night air came alive around him. John ran forward into the melee, throwing himself down beside the edge of a building, trying to get a feel for the chaos around him. Gunfire echoed from several nearby locations and the deep rumbles of explosions filled the background noise. Dust was everywhere, lit only be the sparse lights of houses and fires further into the city.

He took a chance, and darted forward, stumbling over the rocky ground on his bad leg. He slid to a stop in the dirt behind a wall, and brought his gun up to his shoulder. He couldn’t see much through the scope, and he began to think changing his position had been pointless, but then a light came on, and he could make out the form of a person. They brought their gun up and fired, and John heard the unmistakable cry of one of his friends. With a growl he aimed his own gun, and brought the man down with a short three round burst.

The ground exploded to his right, and he scrambled as his body was thrown to the left. He lost his precious hold on the gun, and it slipped away in the dust. The breath rushed out of him as his body was stopped by a solid object. His ears rung with a pain that made him nauseated and one of his arms ached fiercely as he struggled to his feet. He grappled for the handgun he wore on his belt, feeling naked and helpless without his larger and more capable machine gun.

_So much for a simple supply run._

John blinked, trying to clear his vision, but he still couldn’t make out anything in the chaos. He got down on his belly, crawling forward until he lost himself in the noises and flashes of light from various guns. He flinched as a person kicked him in the side and tripped over him, but John wasted no time. He shot the man, who he was able to identify as an enemy, and grabbed the man’s gun. With a growl, John lurched to his feet and headed farther into the city.

He panted, coming to a stop in an alleyway. It was hard, so hard to tell friend from foe in this pandemonium, and his nose was utterly useless, filled with the smell of gunpowder. Still, he might at least be able to see better if he shifted.

John pushed further back into the alleyway until the sounds of the battle faded. He dropped his guns there, and called the wolf. His shift was quick, that was one of his many talents, and within mere breaths he was no longer a lone human standing in the alleyway, but a large wolf. He could see better, though the smoke and dust still made it difficult, and the sounds were hell on his ears, not the mention how the gunpowder burned his sensitive nose. Still, he had shifted in these situations before, and he put those discomforts to the back of his mind. _It’s time to hunt_ , he told the beast inside him, and the wolf curled his lips in a silent snarl.

The wolf that was John Watson padded forward, heading back into the city. He had long since learned to ignore the instincts that screamed for him to run away from the noise, instead pulling on the instincts that told him to protect his pack.

He was silent when he moved, death from the shadows, and he took down anyone that got in his way. He came upon young soldier with his back to him, an enemy, firing at one of _his_ pack. John was on him before the man could even scream, his fangs buried in the man’s neck. He licked his lips as he rose, and continued on, hunting whomever he could.

John worked his way further and further into the city. The bombs had stopped, and it seemed as if the battle was finally ending. He hunted, looking for the last remaining bursts of gunfire.

He came upon two people, a man and a child, both enemies. John didn’t even glance at the child. Enemy or not, the doctor in John wouldn’t let him hurt a child. He leapt at the man, snarling, and tore the man’s throat out. He stood there for only a moment, as pain exploded in his right shoulder. John yelped, and stumbled off the body, to see the child with his gun raised, aiming right for his head.

John knew he was fast. Knew he could kill the boy before he fired another shot, but he held back, watching. Movement caught his eye and he looked in time to see a small, dark, oval shaped object fly over the barricade he and the boy were standing behind. John wasted no time; he lunged forward; hearing the next shot in the ringing of his ears, and feeling the bullet graze his head, just missing his right ear. He reached out, gripping the boy’s shirt in his fangs, and dragged him away.

The grenade exploded behind them, and John flew head over heels. The boy was ripped from his grasp, and he clawed at the air, panicked. The wolf came down hard, and John heard the distinctive crack that meant his sore arm was now broken. He lay on the ground, semi-conscious, feeling the sting of glass shards he had landed on. After a moment he attempted to scramble to his feet, but the pain from the bullet as well as the broken bone made the wolf’s head swim and he heaved.

Blinking John looked around. All he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears, and there was a wetness on his fur that he was sure was blood, though his nose couldn’t smell it. He knew he should shift back so his pack could find him and take him somewhere safe, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking around for the boy.

John dragged himself into a sitting position and looked around. _There!_ He caught sight of a white shirt and a small body laying not twenty feet away. That had to be the boy. Struggling to his paws he limped heavily, approaching the boy. He licked at the child’s fingers, but his eyes told him what his nose and ears could not. The boy was dead. The injuries to his head were too severe for anyone to survive, even with immediate medical attention.

John bit back the howl that crawled up his throat and turned away. He needed to find somewhere safe to shift, and then he would wait for help. The break wasn’t bad, probably just a fracture, and with his wolf healing it would be fine in a day or two. The bullet wound might take a bit longer, especially since he’d have to dig the pieces out of his already healing flesh. The one good side to being a doctor in his mess was that people usually left him alone to treat his own injuries. The last thing he needed was someone noticing how quickly he healed.

A bright light flared up in front of John, and he ducked, trying to understand where it had come from. He didn’t have to wonder long, as a dull pain broke out from the base of his skull, and the world turned dark around him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself caged, and struggles to control the wolf inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't owe any of the characters in this fic, I just like playing with them.
> 
> A/N: Just a brief mention, John will intentionally be out of character at times, I believe. This is due to his inner wolf having a slightly different personality than he does. With the wolf he'll have a shorter temper, a "prey drive" and will prefer to be in control of the situation. The wolf also has a more black and white outlook on the world, and its thoughts aren't complicated by human concepts and abstractions. I'll try to keep them somewhat separated, as different characters almost, but John's wolf is really the same as he is, just a different set of drives and instincts that manifest different depending on whether he is more mentally wolf, or human. They are one being, it's just clearer I feel, to write the wolf as its own character, per se.

John groaned and rolled to a crouch, weight on the balls of his feet as he surveyed the room. His head ached fiercely, though not quite as bad as his broken arm and the bullet in his shoulder. The wolf was in control though his body remained human, and he inhaled as he looked around.

The room was white, sterile and secure. The door was painted but the wolf could smell the silver underneath. Someone wanted very badly to keep him here.

He growled at the threat of the cage and then turned back to survey the human sitting in a chair not three leaps away. He could have taken the man out easily and the wolf that was John licked his lips in anticipation.

 _Easy prey_...he growled again, louder this time, and the human's face shifted slightly, looking concerned.

_Wait, we should hear him out first._

John wrestled control from the wolf and felt the predator slide back into the background of his mind. He shook his head before setting down on the bed that he had woken up on. With the wolf in the background he knew he looked just like any other ordinary human. John relaxed his shoulders, cleared his throat, and gave the other man a look, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. He didn't give up the game entirely though. Instead he waited, silent, eyebrows raised, hands folded in his lap, for the other man to make the first move.

"So, Dr. Watson, I supposed you're wondering why you're here?" It was a question, John supposed, but the tone of voice the man used almost made it a statement. He knew John's name, which told him that he was confined on purpose.

“Well, yeah. I suppose that would be nice.” He said with a frown. The other man gave him a thin smile.

“I can assure you Dr. Watson that you are in a safe place.”

“But you won’t tell me where that place is?”

“No.”

John sighed in frustration, placing his head in his hands. He ran his hands through his hair, and looked up at the man again.

“Can you tell me why I am here?”

“It seems you have a very interesting talent Mr. Watson. One the government would like to take a further look into.” John looked hard at the man sitting across from him. He was wearing a suit, and seemed to carry himself with some sort of authority.

“And you’re with the government?”

“Let’s just say I like to keep my eye out for…interesting things.”

“Can I leave?” John asked, eying the door. Likely they wouldn’t let him go, but he felt the need to ask anyway. The man smiled thinly at his question.

“No.”

“What if I tried to leave? Suppose I don’t want to play along with your little game?” John asked, fighting back the growl that rose in his chest.

"I would make some kind of a threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you." The man looked quite pointedly at the door, and John looked too, noticing a camera in the upper corner of the room. John looked back at the other man.

“I could kill you, you know. You’d be dead before you could even call for help.” John racked his brain, surely there had to be some way out of this. The last thing he wanted was the government learning how the virus was transmitted. They’d probably try to turn it into a weapon of some sort.

“But you won’t kill me, will you _Dr_. Watson?” The man smiled again, and John decided it was a look he wasn’t all that fond of. Like a cat playing with a mouse, it was a knowing look, a superior look, as if John was somehow less than him. John’s hands fisted as anger bubbled up. The wolf inside him raged, furious that they had been caught so easily. John inhaled sharply and rubbed at his sore leg, trying to play off the anger as pain.

“So I’m being held against my will.” He said, meeting his captor’s eyes.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening"

John felt the wolf rising, and it was getting harder to hold it back.

"Are we done?" he asked, his voice tight.

"You tell me."

John closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“I need you to go.”

“Very well, Dr. Watson. I’ll send in someone with food. I’m sure you must be hungry.”

John held his breath until the man finally left. Hearing the door click shut he sighed and fell backwards on to the bed. How was he going to get out of this mess?

He moved his arm experimentally, testing the wounds he had received. The break no longer hurt, it must have completely healed, which meant he’d been unconscious for at least a day. The bullet wound in his shoulder was still sore, but he could feel constricting bandages though his shirt. Someone had treated his wounds.

He reached out with a hand, and felt his cane propped up against the wall. He had dropped it when the explosions had started. Someone must have known something about him, to have grabbed it at the same time he was taken.

John sighed and ran a hand over his face. The wolf inside him hovered nervously in the back of his mind, ready to take control and fight if need be. He wasn’t sure he could settle it down, and the man had been right. John didn’t want a blood-bath on his hands. He was a doctor first, had been long before he’d become a wolf. He’d worked so hard to gain control of the beast, to still be a doctor…to heal the wounded instead of eating someone on his surgery table. If he gave in now, if he somehow managed to get out of his room, and he fought his way out….

John wasn’t sure that was something he could come back from.

There was a knock at the door, and he glanced up to see a young woman. She carried a tray in one hand, her phone in another. She didn’t look at him as she set the tray down.

“Hello,” he said experimentally. She looked over at him briefly in return.

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?” he asked. She paused and looked up briefly from her phone again.

"Uh, Anthea." Her hesitation was plain.

"Is that your real name?" John wondered if she’d lie, or tell the truth. He felt the wolf rise up and peek out at her through his lowered eyelids. He felt the wolf’s eagerness. The wolf hadn’t been able to best the man earlier, but perhaps he could play with her instead.

"No"

"Okay. I'm John."

"I know."

He watched as she opened the door to leave. The wolf growled in annoyance as John held him back. If he let the beast out now, it would slaughter everyone, innocent or guilty.

"Any point in asking where I am?"

"None at all, John."

"Okay." She shut the door behind her as she left, and he closed his eyes again. He would find a way out of this cage, of that he was sure. How long it could take though, John didn’t know. He was a hunter, he could be very patient.

John felt a flash of fear, ice in his heated veins, and worried at the results of caging a predator like himself. He could control the wolf for now, but he wasn’t sure how long he could last, caged as he was. For now he could only hope he wouldn’t be pushed that far.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sherlock and Mycroft for some fun with our favorite Holmes brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey readers! I'm sorry this took so long to update. I've been wanting to write another chapter for a while now, but I was very busy. Just finished a novel and had to get it fixed up for querying. Whew. What a struggle. Anyway, I'm done now with that for a bit. Other than that, I've got a short story I'm writing for a contest, and I'm working on the sequel to the novel I just finished. The contest has a deadline, but I should finish that up fairly soon. Which will give me more time to work on this and my other fics.
> 
> I can't remember if I've said this before or not, but I won't be posting on a schedule. I am very busy with life most of the time, and these stories are a fun way to de-stress. If I add deadlines then they just become another stressful thing that I have to complete and they become less fun. And if they're not fun to write, well then, what's the point?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter okay. Next one should be longer.....maybe. I just wanted to get this scene out and introduce our favorite Holmes brothers. :)
> 
> Also, may need to work on my characterization of Sherlock a bit. Was mostly just feeling him out a bit. I've been watching the show to get a better idea of writing his character, and I think the next chapter will be...easier. And better. Feel free to let me know your thoughts. I'm always open to critique!

Mycroft sighed heavily as he watched the CCTV play on the screen in front of him. He could see John Watson clearly, lying on his bed, as he’d done for days. It had been weeks since they’d brought him in, and in that time he’d refused all food, though they’d managed to get him to drink. Just enough to survive.

Mycroft’s phone buzzed and he looked at it in disdain.

**You need to bring him in.**

He set the phone down, looking back at the screen. His phone buzzed again, and Mycroft glanced over from the corner of his eye.

**We can’t lose this one. Bring him in.**

Mycroft sighed again, and picked up his phone, fiddling with the cool metal. He could scarcely recall how he’d ended up here to begin with. His employer had gotten wind of projects over at Baskerville and had asked Mycroft to keep an eye out, over-seeing some of the projects they were working on. Or rather, experiments. Nothing too crazy so far, that is, until they found John Watson.

They’d had a man who’d been down in Afghanistan for a visit, checking out some of the skirmish zones, posing as a TV agent. He’d gone down there after an anonymous tip of some strange activity. He’d seen tracks in the sand around one of bases, and had sent pictures back to Baskerville for analysis after he’d concluded they weren’t dog tracks. At the time Baskerville had specialized in genetic mutation of animals, which is what the man believed the paw prints to be.

It wasn’t until he’d caught footage of John Watson on a night vision cam, that they’d actually learned werewolves were real.

Mycroft had been mainly curious, who wouldn’t be, at the discovery of a man who could change his shape into that of a beast? It shouldn’t even be possible, what with the laws of the universe and all that. Still, Mycroft hadn’t expected to get particularly involved in this case. He had planned to watch from afar.

But John Watson wasn’t talking, wasn’t eating, and was barely drinking. If they were not careful they would have a dead werewolf and no data to show for it. So there had to be another way.

His phone buzzed again, and he glanced at it, expecting another text from the lead scientist, Dr. Frankland.

Mycroft couldn’t help the wry smile that crossed his face. Perhaps he was wrong to keep his brother away from something like this. Perhaps John Watson was just the thing Sherlock needed to keep him from destroying another apartment with his experiments. Mycroft fiddled with his phone.

He’d been in the room with Dr. Watson, watched the predatory grace as he man had so readily climbed to his feet, even after hours of being drugged. When he’d looked at Mycroft…Mycroft was ashamed to admit he’d actually been afraid. The golden yellow eyes had quite plainly said there was no one home. No one other than a very dangerous, very annoyed, cornered animal.

It hadn’t taken Watson long to settle down, though it had appeared to take some effort. Mycroft had remained still, uncertain that the werewolf wouldn’t actually harm him. He had deluded himself into thinking he was dealing with a rational human being. He’d forgotten for a moment that Watson was _not_ a human being.

Was that something he really wanted to send his little brother into? Watson could surely kill Sherlock.

 **BORED**.

He couldn’t have his brother’s death on his hands, not after everything they’d been through. He still had so much to make up for.

Mycroft’s phone buzzed again.

**BORED. BORED. BORED.**

Mycroft bit back a groan, and hit the speed dial button on his phone.

“Have another case for me to solve?”

“No, actually. Though I have something else that might interest you this time.”

“I’m waiting.”

“I’ll have a car pick you up in five. Be sure to be ready.” He hung up, and dialed another number. “Dr. Frankland. I’ve done as you requested and he will be here shortly. I hope you’ll understand that I’ll be letting my employer know as well? Very well.” Mycroft waited for the line to disconnect and set his phone down again. Watson still had not moved on the CCTV screen.

Oh what an interesting day it was going to be.

* * *

Wrapped in his coat and familiar blue scarf Sherlock spared only a quick glance at the CCTV screen outside the facility while he swiped his brother’s card through the access point. The doors opened, and he paused, letting the guard get only a step in front, following close on the man’s heels.

He slipped the card, stolen from his brother the last time they’d met for lunch, back into his pocket and inspected the military type personnel that led him through the various doors and hallways. Every so often they’d pause and swipe both cards again at a locked door, before heading deeper into the compound.

The man was military, that much obvious by the camo colored battledress the man was wearing. There were a few stains around the cuffs of the sleeves, indicating that the uniform didn’t fit quite right, and it wasn’t as pressed and neat as a typical soldier’s uniform.

This man probably hadn’t seen any real service in years, and was military in name only. No real officer would put up with the state of the man’s clothes.

Just what kind of military personnel were they keeping here at Baskerville? Obviously not the good ones.

They passed through another door, and the guard marched off to the side, leaving Sherlock alone in the gaze of his brother. He looked away from Mycroft, his eyes dancing over the office they were in, taking in every detail.

“Hello Mycroft.”

It looked as if someone used to working in wealthier conditions had tried to dress the place up a bit, and failed. Sherlock smirked.

“Sherlock. So glad you could come this time. And fully dressed too, my what a surprise.”

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft, noting the steepled hands folded under his chin.

“What is it you want this time Mycroft?” Sherlock hated asking his brother for anything, but they’d be here all day, and he had some severed toes in a petri dish that he wanted to get back to. Mycroft turned the monitor towards him, and Sherlock glanced at the CCTV screen, trying his best to look bored.

“He’s a werewolf. The only know human to break the most important laws of science to ever be uncovered.”

“That’s impossible.” Sherlock muttered, leaning forward to look at the screen.

“I thought so too. Still, it seems real enough to me, and I must admit he is a puzzle I cannot crack.” said Mycroft with a sigh, as he sat back in his chair. Sherlock felt Mycroft’s eyes burning into him, but he remained focused on the man in the screen.

“You want me to solve the puzzle. Find out how he does it.” He said, finally looking up to meet his older brother’s gaze.

“That, among…other things.” Sherlock looked away, ignoring his brother’s invite for a game. This _werewolf_ was far more interesting.

“I’ll need a bed.” He said, before gesturing at the screen. “In there.” With that, he turned his back and left.


End file.
